


Just Another Trooper

by Munnin



Series: Red Mist Stories [9]
Category: Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: First Meetings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-19 16:49:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13708599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Munnin/pseuds/Munnin





	Just Another Trooper

Jat waited in the squad room, trying not to fidget. He’d been called up after exercises to talk to some ARC captain. Problem was, he didn’t know why. His performance record was good but by no means exceptional. He wasn’t a shiny but he hadn’t seen that many actions. And he hadn’t made a name for himself in any of them, just done his job. He had no disciplinary issues that might bring him to Command’s attention. So why was he there?

He bounced to his feet as the door opened, saluting smartly. “Sir.”

Captain Fordo carried his bucket in one hand, a datapad in the other. “At ease, trooper.” 

Fordo barely glanced at Jat but Jat felt himself redden, forcing himself into parade rest. He could see that his own service record was on the screen as Fordo sat, but it scrolled too fast for him to read, upside down as it was.

“Your instructors and commanders all say the same thing about you. You’re a solid trooper, a fine pilot, and a reliable support officer. They say you pull your weight in a team and adapt well.” Fordo looked right at him then. And it felt as if the ARC captain was looking straight thought him. “What’s your handle, trooper?”

“Jat, sir.”

“And what does that mean?”

Jat squirmed internally, wishing he hadn’t been asked that question. “Just another trooper. Sir.”

Fordo raises one eyebrow. “Is that how you see yourself?”

Jat gritted his teeth, knowing the question was a test. “I see myself as a soldier of the Republic, sir.”

Fordo looked at him for a long, silent moment before glancing back down at the datapad. “Interesting. Your record says you underwent pilot’s training. But you’ve only flown two missions as primary pilot.”

Jat kept his lips pressed together, waiting to see if the captain expected an answer to what had been phrased solidly as a statement. Another test, he suspected. 

And one he seemed to pass, judging by the momentary quirk of Fordo’s lips. 

“Your record states that on those two occasions, you pulled your team out of hot situations. Your former commander notes that you’re a natural pilot. An intuitive.” 

“Sir.” Jat nodded, keeping his eyes ahead. There still wasn’t a question in that.

“But you weren’t selected for the SPICE program?” 

“No, sir. The Specialist Pilot Instinct Cognition Enhancement program was scrapped before my batch were progressed to that stage.”

Fordo nodded again and Jat felt like he’d just scored another tick in his favour. “And do you know why the program was scrapped?”

“I understand the results were too inconsistent, sir.”

“Correct, trooper. The pilots the program produced were able to analyse situations and options up to four times faster under combat conditions. But they were unable to maintain equilibrium outside high functioning situations. They developed behaviours associated with obsessive compulsive disorders. Most of them had to be withdrawn from service.”

“Yes, sir.” Jat had no idea what any of this had to do with him. Surely, he hadn’t been selected for reprograming? Some new iteration of the SPICE program.

Fordo scrolled through his files, seeming to set the issue aside. “I see you’ve been moved around several units in the last year. Any particular reason for that, trooper?”

“I go where I’m needed, sir. Where I’m send.” It was no fault of his own. Not that Jat knew of anyway. If there’d been a reason he kept getting shuffled, someone would have told him. Wouldn’t they?

“You’ve been placed with some particularly difficult squads under very short notice.” Fordo noted, scanning the team designations. 

“Like I say, sir. I go where I’m sent. Most of those squads had lost member and needed a support officer or pilot at short notice.”

“And you adapted?”

The question confused Jat. “Yes, sir. That’s my job.”

Fordo set aside the datapad and looked at Jat again. Looked through Jat. “Trooper, I’m putting together a squad. An alpha strike team. And you have skills I require.”

“I do?” Jat was so shocked, he forgot protocol, “I mean, yes sir.”

Fordo’s lip quirked in a smile again. “Yes, you do, Jat. You may see yourself as Just Another Trooper but you have a very particular quality. A very rare quality. You get on with people. All of your instructors and commanders note that you adapt to each team you’re put with. That you rarely stand out for yourself but you increase the efficiency of the team as a whole. You’re good at what you do and you encourage others to do just as well. And you’re a peace-keeper within fractious teams.”

The frank summary started Jat and he found he couldn’t answer. 

So Fordo went on. “Like I said, I’m putting together a squad. And right now, it’s top heavy with wild-cards and hot-heads. I have two heavies with explosive reputations, a pair of recons who are going to need reining in. And one of the few remaining active SPICE pilots, who does not always play well with others. I need you, to be the glue of the squad.” 

Him. Just Another Trooper. In an alpha strike team. “Sir, I would be honoured.”

Fordo stook and clasped Jat’s wrist, grinning wryly. “Say that again once you’ve met everyone. You might not be so honoured when you realise what you’re in for.”

***

Two years later, Jat piloted the LAAT skyward, swapping controls with Skate as fluidly as a choreographed dance. “Everyone alive back there?” He called, moving back as the hyperspace calculations fed themselves into the nav-computer. 

“All present and accounted for.” Crispy called, laughing. “Although Hugin’s going to need new eyebrows.” 

“I blame Wrathor!” Hugin snorted, clasping Jat’s hand as Jat pulled him to his feet, soot flaking off his armour. “I’m sure he said two minutes, not two metres.”

“Really?” Wrathor questioned, shaking out his hair as he took his bucket off. “Fernie, he needs his ear checked as well as his eyebrows.”

Jat couldn’t help but smile. How could anyone not to love a family like this?


End file.
